Meeting Her Match

by Debra Clopton

  “He’s not angry.”

  “So says you. The man is a grizzly. An angry grizzly.”

  “Sheri, he’s just used to being alone. And he, well, he is here under duress, but he’s willing, so he’s not angry. He’s just a fish out of water, so to speak.”

  “Maybe a barracuda.” Sheri took another drink of coffee, ignoring the memory of those serious gray eyes.

  “But he’s cute, huh?”

  Sheri rolled her eyes as she headed toward the door.

  “Come on. Admit it, Sheri girl. He’s, like, a hunk, and since when have you not noticed a hunk within a ten-mile radius?”

  Since I very nearly got my heart trampled, that’s when.

  Sheri pushed away the thought and walked out onto her porch, shocked all over again by the darkness and the fact that it was, by all appearances, still snoozing time. “Lacy, we’re up before the roosters. Do you realize that?”

  “Hey, it’s good for you.”

  “Hay is for cows. And daybreak is for roosters,” Sheri grumbled, opening the passenger door of Lacy’s beloved 1958 pink Caddy. Not wanting to lose a precious drop of her coffee, she waited while Lacy sprang over to the driver’s door in her usual Bo Duke style. Once she’d landed with a happy thud, then and only then did Sheri sit down beside her—a routine learned after many cups of sloshed coffee and speckled shirts.

  “I can’t believe you’re trying to deny Pace Gentry is a hunk,” Lacy continued as she backed the big car around and headed out of the driveway.

  Sheri had learned over the years that it was best to keep some things to herself, or she would hang herself with incriminating evidence. With the matchmakers on red alert, now was not the time to admit that, despite his lack of manners, Pace Neanderthal Gentry was about the hunkiest hunk she’d ever seen. Even if that did sound childish and immature, it was the truth.

  A thin, glowing line marked the horizon as they raced the hundred yards down the gravel road and around the corner to the cattle pens. She realized she’d been sleeping like a rock earlier because she hadn’t heard any trucks passing by her house, and there had obviously been a parade of them.

  There were cowboys milling around all over the place as Lacy guided the big car over every rut she could find. Grinning mischievously, she watched Sheri fight to keep her coffee in her cup.

  Sheri chuckled. “Like I said earlier, I’m going to get you back for this. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t be fun if you didn’t. At least you’re looking a little perkier.”

  “Thanks to the coffee, I might make it,” Sheri said as the car came to a jolting halt.

  “Hey, Sheri,” several cowboys shouted in greeting as she slammed the car door shut.

  “Mornin’, boys,” she called while waving, always happy to acknowledge a good-natured cowboy, even if the posse had practically put a Husband Wanted poster out on her behalf.

  “How many horses are coming?” she asked, her gaze snagging on the one cowboy who might be a hunk, but could never in a million years be classified as a good-natured anything. He was standing beside the wooden corral talking to Clint. Grudgingly, Sheri admired them. Together they made a formidable picture of pure strength and manliness. Both were well over six feet, lean at the hips, wide at the shoulders. Extraordinarily handsome. But it was Pace her eyes fixed on, noting his steely gaze following her as she moved to stand beside Lacy. Sheri had to admit, she hadn’t ever seen a better-looking man. But there was more to a good man than his looks, and this one—well, something was missing in the good-man category. That was for sure.

  This morning he had on jeans and shorter chaps that came just below the knees with a wide band of fringe and silver conchos running up the sides. Oddly, Sheri thought they were cute. They added a little flash to his otherwise rugged outfit. Feeling defiant, she lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers at him. He might have dismissed her the day before, but he had another think coming if he thought slamming a door on her meant she was done.

  He tilted his head, acknowledging her wave, but that was it. There was no smile. Not that she’d expected one, but there was not even a hint of a change in Pace’s facial expression. What was his problem? The man was certainly peculiar.

  “Clint said about twelve mustangs,” Lacy was saying. “You can only adopt four mustangs a year but Clint and Pace got special permission from the Bureau of Land Management to get a few extra, though they won’t get papers on all of them this year. The government is very protective of the mustangs. Pace has plenty of horses to train. People are lining up waiting on him to work with their horses because he’s so good. Sheri, are you listening to me?”

  “Ah—yes, sure.” She yanked her gaze away from Pace, hoping Lacy hadn’t noticed her staring at him. Then she wondered why she cared. She could stare if she wanted to.

  The distinct sound of an 18-wheeler could be heard growling around the bend. Lacy, along with everyone else, turned toward the sound.

  “Speaking of Pace, what’s this guy’s full story?” Sheri asked. Her gaze skipped back to the cowboy who was now watching the truck’s approach. Despite his bad manners there was no denying that he intrigued her. When she looked back toward the truck, she met Lacy’s gaze. Drat, she’d been caught. The last thing she needed was Lacy getting any ideas. But Lacy wasn’t smiling. Instead, a thoughtful gleam shone in her eyes.

  “I don’t really know much,” Lacy said, shaking off her serious look, “except what I already told you. How he lived in that cabin in Idaho alone for months is a mystery to me. I’d climb the walls. Can you imagine—no telephone, or water? He washes his clothes in the nearby river. The ice-encrusted river. He’s really like a mountain man. But we’re talking huge ranches here. Like five hundred square miles or more, not acres. Miles of barren, lonesome land. That’s why he lived in the little shack like that. They need men spread out watching over smaller sections over the winters. Even in the summers he doesn’t see much more than a handful of people. Not me, I couldn’t handle that. I’ve got to talk to people.”

  Sheri knew that was right. She could live alone much easier than Lacy. Lacy would talk the bark off a tree if she didn’t have people around to absorb her chatter. If Lacy were to live like Pace—oh, boy, the cows snowed in with her alone over a long winter would probably know the English language come springtime. Sheri smiled thinking about it.

  The big truck and its huge trailer pulled to a halt, the sound drowning out their voices; Sheri leaned in close so Lacy could hear her question. “So he’s going to lease the land and break horses?” She was curious. She told herself it was only because he was going to be living beside her. But she knew it was because, despite everything, there was something about the guy that she found appealing.

  Lacy nudged her in the ribs, and Sheri realized she’d been staring at Pace again. So shoot her, she liked to look at him. Not only was he easy on the eyes, but also his stance was that of a man who was very comfortable in his skin. That was a major attraction to Sheri.

  “It’s like this, Sheri. Clint says Pace is one of the best there is at breaking horses. So when he called Clint and said he’d decided to go into business for himself but needed a place to start, Clint jumped at the chance to get him to Mule Hollow. He offered the lease in trade for Pace breaking some colts for him. They’ve worked something out. Plus, according to Clint, they go way back. His dad used to break horses some summers for Clint’s dad.”

  Sheri found herself watching Pace again; she couldn’t help herself. He strode across the lot to the big truck, his hat was pulled low over his eyes, and there was this little hitch in his stride that made the fringe of his chaps dance and the spurs on his boots sing.

  Okay, so the man was fascinating.

  So was a porcupine. Both could sting a person if they weren’t careful.

  The horses in the huge trailer were whinnying and cutting up something fierce. Sheri wasn’t thinking about the mustangs, however, as Pace untied his horse from the trailer and step
ped up into the stirrup. In one graceful move, he was seated in the saddle.

  Sheri lost her breath at the sight. It just whooshed right out of her. If ever there was a man meant for the saddle, it was this one. Wow. Tall and straight as a rod, he sat with a command that took Sheri straight back to the heroes of the Old West. She just couldn’t shake that image of him. She swallowed and fought off the sigh that tried to escape her lips. Get a grip, girl.

  “Come on, Sheri, let’s get up to the fence so we can watch them unload.”

  “Um, right,” she said, blinking. Following Lacy to the corral, she climbed up onto the second rung and hung on to the top board with one hand. She drank the last of her now-cold coffee as she watched the action.

  The air crackled with energy as Pace rode his horse into the corral, then moved to the side as the truck doors were pulled open. When the first black mustang exploded into the pen, Sheri was immediately struck by what she was seeing. This was a part of history. Majestic and wild the proud horses galloped out of the interior of the transport trailer. Heads held high and manes flying, the horses were utterly beautiful as they trotted down the ramp and loped around the circle of the large pen. It was awesome. Awesome!

  “Pace, he’s going to break these horses?” she gasped. Suddenly, it seemed a shame to tame something so untouched. The word break just held a connotation that seemed almost criminal when used in reference to these proud animals. They were supposed to be wild and free—

  “Clint says no one can do what Pace can do. He’s the best there is at giving a horse manners while still letting it retain its dignity and character.”

  “So that’s his excuse,” she said softly.

  “What’s does that mean?” Lacy asked, looking at her funny. Only then did Sheri realize she’d spoken out loud.

  She smiled. “He’s been reading the wrong book.”

  “Huh?”

  Sheri laughed. “From the way he was acting yesterday it’s obvious that Cowboy Pace has been spending too much time reading the book on horse manners and hasn’t even cracked open the one on cowboy manners.”

  Lacy looked from her to Pace and back again, a sparkle in her eye. “Well, Sheri, maybe he needs someone to open the book for him.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Sheri stepped down from the fence shaking her head. “I know trouble when I see it. That man might be easy on the eyes, but he’s a heartbreaker.”

  Lacy followed her as she walked away from the pen. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, Lacy, it’s written all over him. That guy would shy away from commitment quicker than…” Sheri paused and thought about what she’d just said.

  “You?” Lacy finished, grinning as if she’d just won the cow chip toss. She always won the cow chip toss.

  “Yeah,” Sheri admitted, turning back to look at her neighbor with an entirely new perspective.

  Sheri wasn’t one to think that the Lord paid much attention to her needs. In all fairness, she’d stopped trying to get any special attention from Him a long time ago. Lacy was the one with the direct line to Him. For years Sheri had coasted on her coattails when it came to all that. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that it bothered her some. Maybe at one point a lot. But it wasn’t as if she was going to beg anybody for attention and certainly not God.

  Anyway, she understood that when it came to trying to please the Lord, Lacy had that wrapped up. Lacy lived to please Him, and Sheri couldn’t really blame the Lord for giving Lacy more attention. Sheri loved Lacy like a sister and knew she could never have the heart that Lacy had. Why pretend? Some people were good enough to have priority in the Lord’s eyes, and some weren’t. No matter what people might say, that was the way it worked.

  Still, if she’d said a prayer for the Lord to send her someone to get the posse off her back—well, she figured Pace Gentry might be the answer to that prayer.

  But since she hadn’t asked the Lord for His help and Pace had turned up anyway, she knew it was only a coincidence. Still, she was no dummy. She wouldn’t throw away a golden opportunity when it rode right up to her. Look out, Mule Hollow Matchmakers, the game was on.

  Chapter Three

  Pace looked over each mustang, assessing them as he guided his mare through their ranks. They looked healthy despite the long trip from the Oklahoma Field Station. A bit ragged, but healthy. They were scared and wary though, congregating in a tight knot and moving about the pen as one unit.

  Because they’d made such a long trip and now were in unfamiliar territory, he wanted to make certain their transition was as easy as possible. His own transition gave him even more empathy for these poor creatures. He herded the first six into the second pen then waited on the next group to be released from the second compartment of the trailer. Once he was satisfied that they, too, had made the trip without being injured in the crowded trailer, he rode to the gate and nodded at the young cowhand to let him pass.

  “Mr. Gentry,” he said as Pace rode his horse through the gate he held open. “I’d like to come out and watch you work if you’d let me. I mean, sir, Clint said he’d let me help you anytime you needed help.”

  Pace dismounted and studied the younger man. He recognized the familiar light in his eyes. “You can come out some—we’ll see about helping me. First, you have to call me Pace. My dad was Mr. Gentry. What’s your name?” Pace held out his hand.

  “Jake, sir.”

  He accepted Pace’s handshake, and Pace noticed with satisfaction that he had an easy but firm grip. That went a long way in handling a scared horse. “You want to break horses?”

  “If I can do it your way, sir. I’ve broke a few, gentled some, but frankly, sir, when I saw that documentary you were featured in I knew I didn’t really have a clue how to do it the right way.”

  “Do you have patience?”

  “Um, yes, sir. I do.”

  Pace nodded. “Come out the end of next week. Right now I want some time alone with them. They need time to adjust to the trip and the change of scenery.”

  Jake grinned and nodded as though he’d just been given the best present under the Christmas tree. “Yes, sir. I’ll be here. You need anything else, you call me. I’m at Clint’s bunkhouse.”

  Pace watched the younger man leave, reminded of himself, recognizing the gleam in his eyes.

  “Hello, neighbor. What’s that you said about patience?”

  Pace twisted around, recognizing the voice he knew belonged to his nosy, beautiful neighbor. He might have been less than friendly the day before, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed her. He’d noticed plenty.

  He’d been watching her ever since she’d climbed out of that atrocious car of Lacy’s.

  He studied her, taking his time, thinking if he could keep her offended enough, maybe she’d leave him alone…. She was staring at him with a playful smirk on her lips that matched the easy lilt of her voice. A tone very different from the irritated one of the day before. Today, she had a bright hat on that said Mornings and Hair Don’t Mix, and she was right. Her chestnut, shoulder-length hair was more out of her ponytail than in. It reminded him of a horse’s tail that had tangoed with a crop of scrub bushes.

  “My name’s Sheri Marsh, by the way. Thought I’d tell you since you had that sudden emergency inside your cabin yesterday and didn’t have time to inquire.”

  There was mischief in her eyes as she held her hand out to him. She had long, slender fingers, and he hesitated before reluctantly wrapping his callused fingers around hers. He swallowed hard at her touch, feeling an unexpected connection as her soft hand met his.

  “Patience with people—” he started, his gaze meeting hers and suddenly his gut felt the way it did the moment before he settled into the saddle of a bronc “—is on an entirely different level for a loner like me,” he finished, realizing only then that he was still hanging on to her hand. He dropped it like a hot branding iron, then reached to check the saddle cinch on his horse. His movements out of sync, he forced himsel
f to focus on what he was doing instead of the woman standing near him.

  Stepping closer, she ran her hand down the flank of his horse. “Believe me, I figured that one out myself,” she said drily.

  He shot her a sideways glance from beneath his Stetson. She was standing close enough that he caught the fresh scent of her. Something tangy and tart, like the personality that radiated from her.

  “Well, anyway, cowboy. I just thought I’d tell you that I was sorry to interfere with your business yesterday. I was only looking out for Clint and Lacy.”

  He nodded and tried to work up the will to say he was sorry for his behavior. But before he could respond, she spun on her bright red city boots and strode away.

  He didn’t call her back, but watched her leave instead. She bounced as though she were walking on springs.

  He realized suddenly that he wasn’t alone in watching Sheri Marsh sashay away. Almost every cowboy in his line of vision and probably on the lot had stopped what they were doing and were calling goodbyes to his striking neighbor. She knew it, too. She tilted her head to this side, then that, smiling at each one and waving. The woman acted as if she were on the red carpet or something. There was no doubt that she was one hundred percent comfortable standing in the limelight. Again, that did not surprise him.

  Pace had always liked Sam’s Diner. It was a diner and pharmacy all rolled into one, like so many drugstores had been way back when. This one was complete with the original marble soda fountain and spinning bar stools. He could still remember the first time he walked into the place as a kid. He’d been ten, and he and his dad had been on the road for eighteen hours straight. Pace had been starving, and the smell of bacon and eggs had started his stomach growling the minute they’d walked through the heavy swinging door. Even as a kid he’d been taller than the bowlegged man who came storming from behind the counter and grabbed his dad’s hand. He’d shaken it so hard it looked like a strong-arm contest.